Fever
by Spectregeneral
Summary: Jazz has always been a kind and caring mech, but when he gets sick he turns into quite the brat. Will Prowl be able manage taking care of him? Or will this be the end of their relationship?
1. Chapter 1

Title: When a Datsun is a Nurse

Rating: G

Warnings: Uber fluff, a splash of angst in the middle, followed by another huge heaping of fluff. Basically, it's a slash sandwich

Pairings: Prowl x Jazz

Prompt: Pic of Prowl tending to a sick Jazz by vejiraziel

Plot: Jazz manages to infect himself with a virus and it is up to Prowl to save the day and take care of his ailing mate, but will he be able to stand up to all the demands?

Notes: This be my first time fanficcing so I hope it turns out well. I'm sorry if my writing turns out to be crappy.

"He did what?"

The question hung heavily in the med bay's stagnant air like a guillotine waiting for the rope to loosen and the blade to fall as Prowl stood gaping at the medic like a beached fish. His hands raised until level with his chest as he spoke, palms facing up as though he wished to reach higher and grasp for the answer through physical means. Never before had the tactician looked so completely and cartoonishly dumbfounded.

When he had initially responded to Ratchet's call, being told that Jazz had just been taken to medbay, had, quite understandably, worried him. Horrific visions of his happy go lucky lover being dragged in from battle and lain out mangled and broken on a cold medical berth had flashed through his CPU and sent crushing waves of panic through his circuits.

At once his logic sensors had sprung into action, mentally slapping him for his paranoia and informing him that this couldn't possibly be the case. He would have felt it through their bond if his love had truly been gravely injured, but, where Jazz was concerned, logic often seemed to take the option of flying out the window with a faulty jet pack. Thus, he had torn out of his office and made a fire blazing beeline for the medical bay.

As expected, there was Jazz resting on a berth with Ratchet at his side, but, contrary to normal circumstances of a mech being in med bay, nothing seemed to be amiss and his bond-mate looked none the worse for wear, just rather drained.

His visor brightened a fraction when he noticed his bond-mate entering the room with a obvious concern shining in his optics, and a feeble little smile crossed his faceplates.

"Hi ya Prowler" he had said in a voice that was far too meek for everything to be alright. Prowl had known then, that whatever Ratchet was going to tell him, he was not going to like it.

Now, as the stones were cast before him, he was quite certain that his logic sensors were going to explode. The sheer ridiculousness of the grouchy medic's answer to the unasked question of why Jazz was there feeling like a vicious, yet oddly off kilter, deceptacon fist to the face.

"He did what?" Prowl asked once more, feeling the unexplainable need to repeat himself.

Ratchet gave him a withering glare and sighed as he began once again.

"It seems," he started in a terse voice, indicating his own displeasure at the Saboteur's predicament, "that Jazz was attempting to use a human music downloading program, a very poorly monitored one I might add." He shot Jazz a pointed look, stressing the last three words.

The saboteur's already meek expression took on a level of extreme sheepishness, his hands rising defensively in front of his chassis.

"Go on" Prowl said slowly.

"After mass downloading over, how many did you say Jazz? 300 songs?" Ratchet growled irritably and the porsche shrank back even more. "He, through his own sheer brilliance, did not check the files to see if any were contaminated!!!! Now, he's managed to infect himself with a virus!!"

Prowl's incredulity was violently shoved out the way to make room for alarm. "What kind of a virus? How much damage could it do?"

The medic snorted. "Oh it won't fry anything major. He'll just have a fever and feel like slag for about a week or so." The ambulance's derisive manner told the Tactician that Ratchet firmly believed Jazz deserved it for being so careless.

Relief flashed through the Datsun's processor, only to be nudged away once more for a different, niggling kind of alarm.

"If that's the case," the tactician started carefully, "what was so urgent that required my immediate presence?"

Jazz made a small indignant noise, meant to inform Prowl that anything involving him should require the Datsun's immediate attention, but it was choked off when Ratchet shot another fierce glare in his direction.

"I called you," the medic replied curtly, "because Jazz needs someone to look after him while he is ill. I'd do it myself, but with battles being the way they are, I can't afford to have a berth being taken up by someone who isn't on the verge of deactivation. Not to mention that I have no sympathy for someone who got sick because of his own stupidity!!"

Prowl resisted the urge to groan. Oh was his growing alarm ever well placed. He loved his mate dearly, more than life itself, but he was well aware how much of a brat his lover could potentially become while healing from small injuries. He could only imagine how much whining he was going to have to put up with from a sick Jazz.

His intakes heaving a great sigh, he put his stone mask in place to stop the grouchy ambulance from seeing how much he dreaded this.

"What do I need to do?" he asked, wishing his voice didn't sound so grave.

Ratchet raised an eyebrow ridge at the tone, but chose not comment on it. "Just take him back to your quarters and make sure he gets plenty of energon and rest for the next week. I don't wanna hear anything about him sneaking off on missions, so help me Primus I don't wanna hear of him even leaving the berth. Do all that and he should be fine. I'll come to check on him periodically and I'll see what I can do to make something to speed up the process. Can you handle all that?"

Prowl nodded silently and walked over to the berth where Jazz lay, holding out his hand to help the Porsche up.

Jazz gave him a timid look. "Uh.....Prowler......do ya think ya can carry me.....I dunno if I can walk right now."

The Datsun raised an eyebrow ridge at his lover and, with a defeated sigh, gathered the smaller mech into his arms, resisting the urge to drop him when that saboteur made a small squeak of triumph and snuggled against his chestplates.

As they left Ratchet couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He did not envy all that the poor tactician would have to deal with for the next five days.

xXx

It was close to five o'clock in the morning when Prowl was roughly jerked out of a pleasant recharge by a loud, audio grating rattle. He jumped, much to his chagrin, and a small cry of surprise wormed it's way out of his vocalizer. As his optics lit up with a dim drowsy light, he scanned the room with careful precision, his processor floundering for purchase on the source of the noise.

A quick glance over their quarters helped him to rule out the possibility of an intruder and he couldn't detect any sort of equipment malfunction from himself or anything within the room. So where on earth had that noise come from?

Suddenly it happened again, this time ending in a hacking cough. Now he was able to pinpoint it's location. The horrible sound had come from behind him.

Slowly, he turned over, fairly certain now of who had made the noise and why. What greeted his optics was possibly the most pitiful sight he had ever seen.

Jazz was curled up in a tight ball on his side, his entire body trembling and his intakes issuing the loud rattling sounds that had jerked him so rudely awake. Every so often the Porsche would tense and his frame would jolt with harsh, rough sounding coughs that made the Datsun wince in sympathy.

The sight of his lover so miserable and so completely vulnerable tugged at his spark and made his optic ridges furrow in a concerned frown. Reaching out with a gentle hand he caressed the shivering mech's cheek lovingly, brushing his thumb over the cheek ridges and trailing his fingertips along the soft curve of his mate's jaw.

The blue visor brightened at the sensation and Jazz awoke with another weak cough, leaning into tender touch of his bond-mate.

"Uhh........Prowl....?" he groaned, his vocalizer sounding as though is had been submerged in syrupy oil, "Ah......Ah'm so......cold....and.......mah head....."

At once Prowl felt a wave of guilt surge through his spark. Earlier he had been aggravated and exasperated at is mate's carelessness, not to mention, dreading the notion being at Jazz's command for the duration of his illness, but now, seeing his black and white lover so weak and frail made him feel like the worst bond-mate in the history of cybertron.

"Oh Jazz" he whispered, sliding an arm beneath the trembling Saboteur and drawing him close. He brought his free hand up to cradle the black helm, stroking Jazz's stubby little horns tenderly in an attempt to soothe away the headache.

The groggy mech gave a faint, muffled whimper, nuzzling the broad chest and coughing feebly.

"Try to go back to sleep beloved," the Datsun crooned, cradling his ailing lover tenderly, "I'll be here when you wake."

"Mkay......" Jazz muttered sniffling pitifully and snuggling closer to his protective mate.

Prowl listened as the saboteurs intakes slowed and deepened, all the while still rattling like an old, worn out engine.

He held the Saboteur close, still stroking the sensitive horns and as he began to drift back into recharge, Prowl's resolve to care for his beloved Porsche grew stronger. He swore that he would not rest until Jazz's virus was completely gone.


	2. Chapter 2

A few hours after first light Prowl was woken once again by the weak coughing and gentle, but persistent prodding. Slowly, he powered up his optics, grimacing slightly as the morning light hit them with obnoxious brightness.

He shook his head groggily, willing his remaining offline systems to clear out the dust and awaken.

Turning his head to the source of the prodding, he was was greeted by a very awake and very miserable looking Jazz, the pale rays of the morning light throwing the sabatour's weakened state into sharp relief.

The tactician's optic ridges furrowed and he reached out to caress the side of the porsche's helm. Jazz leaned into the touch, holding his mate's hand in place by covering it with his own.

"Prowler," the he rasped, making Prowl wince, "do ya.........do ya think ah could have.........some energon?"

Prowl's optics flickered as he stared dumbly at his mate. It was a few seconds before he managed to find his vocalizer and stutter "Of course you can.....you don't need to ask." Reluctantly tugging his hand free, he slid off the berth and headed toward the door, "I'll be back in a moment, just try keep yourself warm."

Jazz replied with an almost imperceptible nod before curling back up into a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his body as though it was the only way to hold himself together.

Prowl took one more sympathetic look at his bond-mate, mentally making a note to stop by med bay to retrieve a thermal blanket from Ratchet, and left the room quietly.

As he walked down the ark hallways, his guilt returned to him in full force. Jazz was suffering, so much that he was almost despondent, and truth be told, it scared him. It was rare for something to get his bouncy, cheerful bond-mate down.

He sighed and tried to push it to the back of his mind as he pushed open the doors to the rec-room.

It did not take him long to acquire a few energon cubes from the recreational room, nor a blanket from Ratchet and soon he was at Jazz's side once more. He shook the slumbering mech's shoulder with careful tenderness, calling his name softly.

"C'mon Jazz, I have energon for you.....wake up...."

The black and white bot stirred and turned to Prowl with a pathetically dim visor. His lips twitched into a fragile smile of gratitude as he tried sit up, but it seemed as though his arms no longer wished to support his weight.

Prowl took pity on him. Sliding into the berth so that he was seated next Jazz, he gathered the sick one into his arms and cradled his lover against his chest. He supported the black helm with the palm of his hand and placed the rim of the energon cube against Jazz's trembling lips, trying his best not to let it spill.

Jazz sipped delicately at the cube, taking in as much as he could before coughing, splashing its contents on his chin and down his chest. He whined piteously, sounding like a injured dog, and turned his head away.

Prowl clucked his glossa in an almost motherly fashion, feeling as though he were caring for premature sparkling. He thumbed away the splatters of energon and tried to coax Jazz into taking a little more, but sabatour would have none of it. He merely buried his face in Prowls chestplates, another whine escaping his vocalizer.

The tactician sighed and set the cube down on a table next to the berth. "I have to go get some work done now love," he whispered gently, "I'll come back to check on you, but if you need anything before then, just comm me and I'll be there.....alright?"

Jazz nodded, allowing Prowl to pull free of his arms and lay him back down on the berth. The Datsun spread the thermal blanket over his love, making sure he was comfortable, and spared one last lingering caress to Jazz's face before leaving for his office.

xXx

Prowl worked the rest of the morning away, the clattering of his fingers tapping continuously on the keyboard was the only sound that permeated the thick silence.

On the one hand, he was rather pleased that Jazz had not adopted his normal habit of calling Prowl every two seconds when berth ridden. On the other, however, he couldn't help, but feel slightly apprehensive. If Jazz was too sick and miserable to call him, then maybe the virus was worse than Ratchet thought. It could be killing him right now and here he was working on stupid data pads!

'No,' he reprimanded himself sharply, effectively cutting off his neurotic train of thought, 'Jazz is fine. He's just sleeping it off. Stop acting like a Red Alert wannabe and concentrate on what your work.'

His raging neurosis firmly packed away behind a solid mental wall, Prowl dove back into his work, forcing himself to enjoy the silence.........for the next five minutes.

A harsh, insect like buzz from his com-link startled him out of his typing haze and Jazz's raspy voice filled his audio sensors.

"Prowler" the plaintive voice said softly, sounding suspiciously like a childish whine to the tactician.

"Yes Jazz" he replied patiently, waiting to hear what his mate wanted.

"Ya said..........ya'd....come...*cough*... back inna few hours......"

Prowl checked his chronometer and winced, cursing under his breath. He'd been so into his work that he had left Jazz alone much longer than he'd intended.

"I'm sorry Jazz," he apologized, remorse and guilt evident in his tone, "I'll come now, do you want me to bring you some more energon?"

"Can ya?" Jazz asked pathetically and Prowl had to push down the rising suspicion that his lover was now trying milk his illness for all that it was worth.

"Of course. I'll be there soon."

xXx

Feeding Jazz had turned into a slightly more protracted experience that Prowl had initially expected.

Not being able to prevent spills by merely holding the cube to Jazz's mouth, he had been forced to hunt down something with which to spoon feed his mate. Then, once that was accomplished, he had to tackle the Saboteur's fussiness over how much he would ingest within a certain time frame.

On the whole, it had taken him a little under two hours to get Jazz to finish the cube and go back into recharge.

His patience now thinner than ice at the beginning of spring, he returned to his office, heaving a great sigh as lowered himself into his chair. He knew it had been too good to be true. It may have taken a little longer than usual, but now Jazz had turned the neediness on full force.

It was something that completely baffled him. Jazz was the most confident, caring, giving mech in the world. Ready help others with their problems at a moments notice, or prepared to give his all just make a sad mech smile, but whenever he was sick or injured he turned into whiny, pretentious, selfish little brat. It was almost as if there were two personalities residing in that CPU and the dislikable one only ever emerged when the Porsche was at his weakest.

It was strange, extremely aggravating and very difficult to put up with, but Prowl loved him with all his spark, and if putting up with such childish behavior came as part of the Jazz package, then he would persevere.

Then his comm buzzed again.

Already knowing and dreading who it was, he suppressed an irritated growl and answered. He made note of his lover's request, or demand more like, and with a long, suffering sigh, left his office once again.

Short chapter is short and uneventful, but don't worry, the drama awaits you!! Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. I've had a lot on my plate with work and the my panels at the upcoming convention. I'm gonna post the next one right away!


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next three days, Jazz's strength began to return to him. No longer was he constantly shaking with cold, nor where his intakes hitching with painful, jarring coughs and hitches. He was also, much to Prowl's relief, able to feed himself again, but his flow of demands continued to buffet the datsun like a raging river and Prowl had begun to hate the sound of his com-link's ever present buzz.

Important tasks, such as retrieving energon from the rec room, or allowing Jazz to rest his helm in the tactician's lap when he was sporting a persistent headache, did not bother Prowl. Indeed, he was only too glad to be of help when his lover was truly in need of it.

No, it was the small, menial tasks that cause anger to flare up in his CPU. Things such as being called from his office to turn down the heat in their quarters, or whining like a sparkling just so that datsun would talk to him, or, the worst one yet, being pulled out of a meeting with Optimus, because Jazz couldn't sleep and wanted Prowl to tell him a story. That one had nearly sent Prowl into a processor freeze that he would not have soon recovered from.

The tactician was loosing his famed cool. So close was he, to a mental breakdown, that even Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been on their best behavior, for fear of setting off the ticking time bomb that was Prowl.

Mechs all throughout the base steered clear of SIC's office. Any that dared to venture near was either frightened off by the angry ranting from within, or had an unjust punishment snarled in their face followed swiftly by a slamming door.

While he single handedly spread fear through the ark, Prowl sat stewing alone, fists clenched so tightly that they were almost trembling.

"I swear," he growled to his empty office, and ugly scowl painted across his face as he watched the thunderstorm raging outside his window, "if he calls my name, in that whiny voice one more time-"

The com-link buzzed. "Proooowwwwl?"

Apparently, Jazz was not good at reading Prowl's emotions through their bond right now. Either that, or he was deliberately ignoring them.

The Tactician's frown deepened and lightening struck outside, reflecting his mood with wonderful, dramatic accuracy.

His circuits began to fritz and sizzle, his lubricants reaching boiling point. He felt like tearing something in half and right now, and he wanted that something to be his bond-mate.

"That's it," he snarled as he stormed out of his office, sending the nearby twins and Bluestreak scattering in fear of impending spark extinguishment, "no more!!"

As he stomped down the halls, grinding his denta and muttering angrily in a mix of human english and cybertronian, all the residents of the ark either fled in terror or stopped to watch in morbid fascination. Never before had they seen the tactician in such a fit of rage, and all of them were glad that they were not the targets of such anger.

He reached the quarters that he shared with Jazz, staring at it for a moment as if contemplating the pros and cons of punching it open. Apparently there were more cons, for he settled with angrily stabbing the lock code on the keypad and letting the door slide open.

There was Jazz sitting in the middle of the berth and by the look on his face, he had been planning to make some chiding remark about his mate taking so long, but the expression of utter fury on Prowl's face made any pending comment die in the Saboteur's vocalizer.

"Um........Prowl...?" he whispered hesitantly, a small shard of fear punctuating his words.

And just like that, with that one tiny utterance of his name, Prowl exploded. All his anger and resentment that had been building and building for that past three days bubbled over the rim of his mental wall and then flooded the room in a deluge of of cruel, noxious words.

"What?! What in the fragging pit is it now Jazz!!? Something that you are apparently too weak and too fragging selfish to do yourself?!! Need me to feed you?! Turn the heating down?!" he raged stalking closer to his now cowering lover.

"Or maybe you want another story!!!" the tactician snarled, "ok here's one, there once was a little autobot named Jazz, who was normally giving, caring and an amazing mech to be around, but then he got sick and turned into the biggest fragging brat in the history of Cybertron!!! Everyday he would drag his lover away from important meetings and office work to perform mundane tasks like a slave!!!! And you know what??!! That lover can't take it anymore!!!!!"

Jazz was frozen on the berth, a stricken look on his face as he watched his mate rage on and on. "P....Prowl...ah-"

"Oh no," Prowl cut him off viciously, "it's still my turn to talk!! You are and inconsiderate, selfish little glitch and I have had enough!!! Find someone else to take care of you for the next few days, because I quit!!!"

With that said he stalked toward the door and turned to give his mate one final hateful glare. "Come and find me when you know how to behave like a decent mech again!!"

As the door slid shut, he took a deep shuddering breath and leaned against it, pondering the wisdom of what he had just done.

He winced when he heard Jazz call his name in a pained sob and the force of his lover's anguish ripped through his spark. It took every ounce of his strength not to rush back into the room, gather the distraught Porsche into his arms and blubber a premature apology.

He was still angry, and Jazz had a lesson to learn, he couldn't afford to screw it up now, because he felt guilty.

With his spark feeling ten times heavier then it had before, Prowl pushed himself away from the door and shuffled back to his office.

xXx

Several hours later, whilst sitting alone at his desk, completed data pads pilled in one corner, guilt had arrived and begun to buffet Prowl around the head once more.

Jazz's sorrow continued to throb like an open wound, each sob echoing through their bond and feeling like a dagger to the spark.

The Datsun pinched the bridge of his metal nose, wishing that he had managed to keep a stronger hold on his temper. Sure, Jazz had been acting like a fragging jerk, but that didn't excuse that fact that he had snarled at him, called him awful names and then told his lover that he was abandoning him.

His doorwings twitched and then drooped as another pang of distress shot through him.

A pained sigh escaped Prowl's intakes. He couldn't do it. He couldn't leave Jazz to cry the night away alone and in pain in their quarters. Time to make things right and apologize for his actions, maybe even grovel if the situation arose. Either way, he would make it up to his mate.

He rose from his chair and headed out into the hall.

The walk back to his quarters seemed to drag on for hour, every step echoing in his audio receptors like the thunder echoing in the sky. All the while, he was wracked his processor for the right words to say to his mate. A stinging outburst like that was not something that either of them would easily recover from and he was at a complete loss as to how to begin the healing process.

Suddenly, that ominous door loomed in front of him once again and he could feel his spark sinking in its chamber. Slowly, tentatively, he raised his fist, and gently rapped his knuckles against the thick metal.

No answer.

Prowl frowned, both puzzled and alarmed. He tried again, straining his audio sensors to hear any telltale signs of crying or a choked 'come in' from his mate. Nothing. Not a single, solitary sound.

Fear shot through his spark and his hands began to tremble.

'No no,' he chided himself mentally, 'calm down, he's probably just recharging.'

That quieted the fear ever so slightly and with hands still quivering with apprehension, he managed to, shakily, punch in the lock code.

The door slid open and all the energon and lubricants in Prowl's body froze, his spark plummeting to his feet. The room was dark, Jazz's things were gone and the berth was empty.

Jazz was gone.

Hehehehehehehe..........someone pointed out to me that I should make Prowl worry in this chapter. How's that for a bucket of panic?! And yes, I know....evil cliffhanger.....i'll work on getting the next one up soon.


End file.
